Let the Old Dreams Die (47 page)

Kalle glanced at Flora, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Kalle nodded briefly.

‘And you shouldn’t really have it?’

Kalle said, ‘We forgot to drop it off,’ and could hear that it sounded every bit as stupid as he’d expected.

‘So what’s in it, then?’

Kalle injected a little more strength into his voice and said, ‘We don’t know’, hoping that Roland would drop the subject. He seemed satisfied, and for the rest of the trip to Åkersberga they talked mostly about music. Kalle learned that Flora had been a dedicated Marilyn
Manson fan until three years ago, when she had grown tired of his covers and sexist videos. When her parents wanted CDs to hang in the fruit trees at their place in the country to frighten off the deer, she’d given them her Manson CDs. The deer weren’t frightened at all. Roland said it might have been more effective to play the CDs instead of hanging them up.

At half past one in the morning they were outside Roland’s house in Solberga. Kalle switched off the engine, but Roland made no move to get out. He sat there chewing his lips, then said, ‘I’ve got an oxyacetylene cutting torch in the garage. If you’re interested.’

Kalle looked at Flora. She wobbled her head slightly in a way that could mean almost anything. Except for no. Roland held his hands up, palms outwards. ‘I won’t say a word. And I’ll settle for a
little
explanation.’

Ten minutes later Roland had driven his Jaguar (‘the midlife crisis’, as he called it) out of the garage, and found the torch and a mask. They were standing around the box, which was in the middle of the garage floor. Roland tapped the box with the nozzle of the torch and asked, ‘Could there be anything explosive inside?’

‘We have no idea,’ said Kalle. ‘But I don’t think so.’

‘Might be best if you two go outside, just in case.’

‘What about you?’

‘Me…’ Roland pulled a face to indicate how little his life mattered to him at the moment. ‘It’ll make a good headline, if nothing else.’ He picked up a lighter and held it to the nozzle, turned a knob. Nothing happened.

‘How do you start one of these things?’

Kalle could now see that the whole thing was brand new, and had never been used. There wasn’t a single scratch on the welding mask. Roland smiled sheepishly.

‘It was cheap at Biltema. Thought it might come in handy.’

Flora walked over to the gas tank and unscrewed a valve. A needle on the dial twitched and they heard a spurting, hissing noise. Roland nodded and held the lighter to the nozzle again. The spark caught, and the hissing became sharp and threatening as Roland adjusted the level until he had a blue flame. Kalle had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

‘Roland, are you sure you—’

‘One hundred per cent. Better to burn out than fade away. Out you go, kids.’

Roland pulled down the mask and approached the box. Kalle and Flora backed out of the ordinary door next to the up-and-over garage door and closed it behind them. Flora pulled Kalle towards the house. They could hear a loud whining from inside the garage, and Kalle could see a flickering blue light in the gap under the door.

Flora sat down on the bottom step, and Kalle thudded down beside her. He slowly shook his head. ‘What the hell are we doing?’

‘He wanted to do it,’ said Flora.

‘Yes, but—’

‘He wanted to do it. He’s enjoying himself. This is…cool. Something like this was exactly what he wanted.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so.’

When five minutes had passed without the garage blowing up, they went back inside. They had to screw up their eyes to protect them from the sparks flying from the box where Roland was hunched over, holding the nozzle in a vice-like grip. The garage had a dry, electrical smell and was several degrees warmer than it had been.

Roland straightened up, pushed up the mask and let out a long breath. He caught sight of them and wiped away the perspiration that was running down his face.

Flora’s right
, thought Kalle. Roland looked childishly happy.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Hot work, this.’

They moved closer to the box. Roland’s cut traced an erratic, wavy line along the top edge of the box. A gap about a centimetre wide had opened up. It still wasn’t possible to see what was inside, but it was clearly nothing flammable. However, it was something that stank. When the torch had been off for a while, they were all aware of the stench emanating from the box. Roland leaned forward until his mask hit the edge of the opening, then quickly jerked backwards with his hand to his mouth.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said between his fingers. ‘That really stinks. What the hell is it? Is it…could it be…?’ Roland looked at the box and licked his lips. ‘If it is, the police ought to be doing this.’

‘Can you get it open?’ asked Flora.

‘Well yes, but…’ Roland wrinkled his nose and pressed his hand more firmly to his mouth. ‘Fucking hell, what a stench.’

‘I don’t think the police would do anything,’ said Flora. ‘I think this is…sanctioned.’ She looked at Kalle for confirmation. He nodded and walked over to Roland. ‘I can finish it off.’

Roland moved the nozzle out of Kalle’s reach.

‘No, no. I just…I mean this is really vile, guys.’

Nobody had anything to add, so after taking a deep breath Roland flipped down the mask and carried on. Kalle and Flora looked down at the floor to avoid the glare. Flora’s hand slipped into Kalle’s and he squeezed it, trying to convey a confidence he didn’t feel.

We open it and it’s full of dead bodies and what do we do then?

And the answer, the persistent theme of the evening, came back once more:

No idea.

When Roland had cut along another side he switched off the torch and removed the mask. It was now possible to force open the lid. As the electrical smell faded, the other took over. The
putrefaction. The smell of death. Roland no longer looked as if he was enjoying himself, but he straightened up, attempted a smile and said, ‘Right then. Just one question: Shall we throw up now or wait until later?’

The very mention of the words ‘throw up’ made Kalle feel as if a finger was poking at his throat, from the inside. Flora’s lips were firmly clamped together. She didn’t look as if she felt quite as ill as Kalle and Roland; the expression in her eyes was one of sorrowful determination. She went over to Roland’s side of the box and pulled at the lid. Roland did the same, and Kalle took the other side as they all struggled to prise it open.

The metal was hot against Kalle’s fingers, but it didn’t burn. It wasn’t as thick as he had thought. He could probably have got the lid open by himself. It resisted stubbornly, but in just a few seconds they had managed to force it right up. They held their shirts and sweaters to their mouths and looked down.

Waste material from a slaughterhouse.

The box did not contain bodies. It contained parts of bodies. On the top lay a white spongy mass that Kalle didn’t recognise as a hand at first, because the fingers had been chopped off. It was lying in a clump of something that was presumably intestines. Along the edges lay severed feet, a forearm and several hands, along with odd fingers, the nails faintly reflecting the light from the ceiling.

A couple of the fingernails still bore traces of nail varnish. A woman had made her nails beautiful many years ago. Or perhaps her nails had been painted when she was laid in her coffin. Someone had sat with a brush and painted her nails bright red, then folded her arms across her chest and said goodbye. Now her hands lay here, separated from everything else, in a pile of waste material.

Roland threw up first. He just had time to twist his body away from the box before he brought up the contents of his stomach. Kalle managed to move back a couple of paces before the sound of Roland
vomiting started him off. His stomach turned itself inside out and everything went black. He threw up until there was nothing but bile left, then stood with his hands resting on his knees, listening to the sound of Roland panting for breath, echoing his own gasps.

Flora…

He looked up from the yellowish-brown puddle in front of him and saw Flora sitting on the floor in the corner. She hadn’t thrown up. She didn’t even look as if she felt sick, but there was a veil of dark sorrow over her face. Kalle managed to wheeze, ‘Flora?’ but got no reply. He wiped his mouth and staggered over to her.

‘Flora, are you OK?’

She looked up. Her eyes were wet, her eyelids trembling.

‘They’re…taking them apart. They can’t kill them, so they’re… why are they doing this?’ She pointed to the box. ‘There are no heads.’

Kalle looked at the box, not wanting to think about how Flora had found out that particular piece of information. He thought:
I don’t know her. I don’t know anything about her,
but he simply said, ‘Perhaps they’re in a different one. A different box.’

Roland came over to them. His head was moving mechanically backwards and forwards as he whispered, ‘Anyone need a drink?’

Without waiting for an answer he headed for the door leading into the house, opened it and disappeared. Kalle helped Flora to her feet and they followed him. Kalle took a last look at the nondescript metal box on the floor, and something someone had said flashed through his mind:

You’re a part of this now. With all that entails.

He didn’t want to know what it entailed. He wanted to drink until nothing entailed anything anymore.

Roland was sitting on his white leather sofa pouring himself a full glass of whisky when they walked in. He waved towards the drinks
cupboard, the armchairs:
Help yourselves and sit down.
He knocked back half the contents of the glass in one, flopped back against the cushions and said, ‘What a fucking night.’

Kalle went over to the cupboard and let his eyes roam over the neatly arranged bottles. Stopped. Stared. Let the image of the bottles sink into his head. It felt like a balm. The orderliness of the bottles versus the chaos inside his skull. Nice colours, soft light. Pretty labels. He grabbed a bottle containing a clear yellow liquid at random; he knew nothing about liqueurs.

When he turned back Flora was sitting in one of the armchairs and Roland’s glass was empty; he was just pouring himself another. Without bothering to be polite and ask if Flora wanted anything, Kalle slumped down in an armchair and unscrewed the top of the bottle.

He was just raising it to his mouth when Flora said, ‘Kalle?’

He paused. ‘What?’

‘Perhaps…perhaps you shouldn’t have a drink.’

‘Why not?’

‘We have to drive.’

Roland cleared his throat. ‘You can sleep here. Wherever you like. Drink and be merry. Smile and rejoice.’

Kalle nodded and put the bottle to his lips; he took a swig and closed his eyes. The alcohol burned his throat, which was sore from so much vomiting. Flora took the bottle from him and he opened his eyes.

‘We have to go there,’ said Flora.

‘Go where?’

‘There.’

‘
Now?
’

‘Yes.’

Kalle shook his head and reached for the bottle. ‘No way.’ Roland sat up straight, with some difficulty. The rapid intake of alcohol had
exploded in his head, and he was already slurring his words when he said, ‘That’s good. Good. Don’t let them tell you what to do. You stick up for yourself.’ He wagged his finger at the bottle and at Flora. ‘Don’t be like that. Let the boy have a drink.’

Flora got up, still holding onto the bottle. Roland followed her movements with his mouth hanging open, and patted the sofa beside him.

‘Come and sit by me. Just chill. Take a break. This has been… fucking awful. Let’s just relax for a little while.’

Flora looked at Kalle with an expression that made him pull back his hand. Then she slammed the bottle down on the table in front of him.

‘Go on then, have a drink. Drink, for fuck’s sake. Make yourself feel better. Drink.’

Kalle looked at the bottle. The desire to have a drink no longer felt so urgent, but he hadn’t the slightest inclination to drive back to the Heath. Roland leaned forward and pushed the bottle closer to Kalle.

‘Do as the girl says. This is good stuff. Unfortunately I can’t… pronounce the name at the moment. From Scotland.’

Flora ignored Roland. She turned to Kalle, extending her arms as if to show her unprotected body.

‘Who do you think I am? Go on, tell me. Who do you think I am?’

Kalle said what he felt: ‘I don’t know.’

‘Am I…some kind of authority figure? Am I a fucking cop? Am I some kind of official body who comes along and gives orders? Am I…the person who’s in charge here?’

Kalle picked at a stain on the arm of the chair. ‘Well, you’re the one who sort of…drives things along.’

‘Yes. And why do I do that? Do you think I’m going to get anything out of all this, do you think I’m going to be…happy? It’s
just that I know…I know…if you knew that maybe a thousand people were going to be murdered and you could do something to stop it, wouldn’t you do it?’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course. Obviously. But I mean this is…’

‘This is worse. It’s not just that they’re murdering people, they’re already dead, they can’t murder them, but they’re obliterating their souls. I don’t know where we end up when we die, but there’s a place that might be heaven, or at least a place where we’re meant to end up. This thing your…your relatives are doing means that these people will end up…somewhere else. In nothingness, in a vacuum, in a place that…doesn’t exist. For all eternity. Do you understand? For all eternity.’

Tears started to pour down Flora’s cheeks, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. She pointed in the direction of the garage.

‘I’ve seen it. I know it. Every single one of those people, what used to be people lying in that fucking box, every single one of them has been condemned to…an eternity of nothingness, to the closest thing you can get to hell, for all I know, and I don’t understand why it’s being done, why those bastards are doing it, but that’s what they’re up to and I don’t intend to let it continue if I can do even the smallest thing to stop it!’

Flora suddenly closed her mouth, snivelled and rubbed her eyes. She sat down on the armrest of her chair and put her face in her hands. Roland had listened open-mouthed to Flora’s diatribe. He blinked rapidly a couple of times and said, ‘Bloody hell…’